


Edge of the Future

by Fireway



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fix-It, Fluff, Slight Canon Divergence, but theres not a lot of angst compared to my last fic i swear, married!gendrya
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-31
Updated: 2019-05-31
Packaged: 2020-03-30 20:19:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19034941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fireway/pseuds/Fireway
Summary: Arya Stark had never been fond of the stories the septa or her mother read to her and Sansa - instead she wanted to sword fight with the boys outside.It turns out, Arya accidentally found herself a storybook prince in a storybook romance.Slight changes to the last two episodes of Game of Thrones, where Gendry was on the boat. This was all based on a single tweet that got this idea rolling.





	Edge of the Future

**Author's Note:**

> Whole idea to this fic came from this tweet: https://twitter.com/darnaverse/status/1133922305111760897?s=19
> 
> Unbetaed as always, I pulled an all-nighter writing this so uh sorry

Arya had never been the best with apologizing; as a child, her mother had to force Arya to mumble a tiny “I’m sorry I got your dress dirty” or “I’m sorry I dropped a bug in your hair during feast”, most of the time to Sansa. When she grew up, it became even harder; she didn’t really go back to her mistakes, there was no use in that when all she was a weapon, a needle piercing through the darkness the ones who deserved it.

 

Arya was kept back by the maester for three days after the battle of King’s Landing – the gaping wound on her forehead was sewed properly, and she was kept laying down and fed properly in the crammed medic tent until her head didn’t spin every time she stood up. Well, it still did, but it’s not like she was going to tell that to people who would stop her from leaving the medic tent.

 

Arya wanted to go to Jon, speak until her mouth was empty of useless word and heart felt more sure, but she couldn’t – after Jon had left the destroyed Throne room, he had been stopped by some Unsullied men and imprisoned; the man had been stupid enough to admit he had been the one behind Daenerys’ disappearing, as he was the one to sunk the dagger into her flesh and watch as Drogon fled away with it’s mother’s body.

Arya would have fought her way through the Unsullied, or would have snuck into the prison chamber where Jon was kept, but knew it would just mean more problems both to him and her.

 

And as she had nobody she’d trust with her matter, Arya was left alone with her thoughts as she readied her horse, the white mare she had found in King’s Landing drinking somewhat-clean water from the bucket before the long journey back to North.

 

Arya let her thoughts wander back to Winterfell, not soon after they had burned the bodies of the ones who didn’t make it. As the ash was settling on the snow, Arya had approached Sansa, who was sitting down in the Great Hall, as she wrote to all the families who weren’t already in Winterfell who had lost sons or fathers or other family members in the battle against night.

“Am I interrupting?” Arya’s voice had been weaker than it should have been – the emotion running thick in it.

“No, no. I’ll just finish this up.”

It took less than a minute, but then Sansa looked up from the scroll to her younger sister, who was standing in front of the table, resting her weight on her hip; her leg was bruised and hurting quite a bit from the battle.

“I have an request. I know you’ll be staying in Winterfell – you need people around you. If Jon’s queen gets us all killed, you can’t rule a castle without people in it.”

“… Yes, some will stay here. Brienne, smallfolk, some soldiers and my personal guard.”

Arya found an opening.

“Your guards and the soldiers need their weapons maintained or new ones made. You’ll need a proper blacksmith.”

“You have someone in mind? That black-haired man who rode here with Jon?” Arya was surprised that Sansa knew of him; on the other hand, Sansa seemed to be on top of everything these days.

“Yes, Gendry – Gendry Waters. He is a skilled blacksmith, knows how to get by with small supplies and can fight. He’d be use to you.” Arya tried selling the idea of having a southern boy stay in Winterfell to her sister. Sansa seemed thoughtful for a moment – then nodded.

“I’ll have someone inform him that he is staying in Winterfell by your request --”

“No, say it was your idea. Leave me out of it, the bullhead would just ride straight to King’s Landing if he heard.”

 

Sansa had agreed with her, her eyes studying Arya’s features, that thankfully to Arya herself, let nothing on. Arya had agreed and spun around and headed out from the way of the feast the staff started to prepare in the Great Hall.

Later, Arya had wondered, if the staff had opened some of the casks with the stronger kind of ale; maybe it was the alcohol in Gendry’s veins that made him get stupid ideas, like marrying Arya and making her his little ladywife, who’d give him heirs and sing songs of stupid maidens of the past as she made gowns for the little Baratheon ladies, like Sansa had sometimes dreamed. In a way, it was the perfect way of ending their little dance of flirtation and stolen kisses. She got to blame herself; she wasn’t the one Gendry was looking for, she wouldn’t give him what a lady would. Then, he could be angry, knew it had ended when he would be told that Arya would have died in King’s Landing, preferably with here knife on Cersei’s throat. There would be no tears, no real loss – who would cry for the girl who had left it all behind?

 

Yet, that didn’t happen. It had made Arya’s hands shake as she had ridden over the rubble that was once the gate to King’s Landing. She was alive, heart beating and lungs filled with ash, smoke and air.

 

Now, she had to face her own loss, loss of the man who loved her and her own stupidity as she had ridden him away.

It was a terrifying thought – and Arya had plenty of time to stew in her own fear as she rode down the King’s Road to Winterfell, hardly stopping as she felt like her chest would burst if she didn’t get to explain everything to Gendry; she wanted him as he had wanted her. She wanted to tell him that she loved him, wanted to apologize for saying no that night. Yet everytime she thought what she wanted to say, a thought crept into her head; what if Gendry couldn’t trust her words, thought of them as the last refuge of a girl who had accidentally lived to see the next morning.

_Go home, girl._

_Go to Gendry, girl._

_You are more than a sword. You deserve a family, you deserve love._

_You deserve to live._

Arya felt like she would fall off her horse from tiredness when she finally reached the peak of a hill that stood high before Winterfell. She hade been riding all night, as she knew she was close; now the cold wind caught her cloak and snuck under the layers, making her shiver. Arya told herself it was from cold, but part of her knew it was from a emotion so primal, so capturing; _fear_.

Arya had not known fear for years. It had been ripped from her the moment she realized, in the infinite darkness of being blind, she could fight back. Then, that emotion, as well as many others, had been kept at bay; instruments of gods and vengeance didn’t need them.

But then it came back, as Arya walked out of Godswood, as she had been readying herself for death as she leaped towards the Night King, dagger in hand. Fear flooded her mind as she started looking for her family; then, it slowly washed away when she found her sister, comforting a girl of not even ten as the girl’s hands were soaked in the blood of her mother. The fear lost even more grip of her, when she found Jon, helping an injured man lay down.

But when Arya had found Gendry, clothes dirty with someone else’s blood, the fear of only finding Gendry’s body was replaced with the fear of losing him, if he would fall in the oncoming battle in King’s Landing. So she had made sure he wouldn’t be there, then helped herself get rid of the fear of losing him as she pushed him away.

Now, the fear found it’s way back to her chest, making it harder to fill her lungs with winter air, as she thought what Gendry would say; would he tell her to get lost, would he have drowned his feelings with a maiden far prettier than Arya? It had been almost a moon and a half after Arya had left, not meaning to come back.

 

Yet there she now was, riding through the gate and taking in the changed courtyard, as Sansa had already started the rebuilding.

“Arya!” Sansa’s voice rang through the yard, as her sister abandoned her guards and the man she was talking to, running to her sister who has getting off the saddle.

Arya hardly had time to even answer, as Sansa grabbed Arya’s shoulders and for a moment, Arya saw a flash of Catelyn Tully in her sister with eyes as fiery as her hair.

“You idiot, why did you leave alone, without telling anyone? You had me worried to death?!” Sansa scolded her, Arya just looking dumbfounded, not finding the words – thankfully, she didn’t have to as Sansa pulled her sister to a tight embrace, shaking her head and muttering something about stupid siblings who headed head-first into battles.

“… Sorry.” Arya mumbled against Sansa’s hair before wiggling out – she had a reputation to hold.

Sansa obviously had around thousand more questions, but Arya stopped her.

“Daenerys is dead, Jon killed her, Cersei’s dead, that’s all I know, I don’t have time for this.” Arya said all the bits she deemed the most important, and then practically bolted from her sister – she, indeed, didn’t have time for any of this. She needed to shake the fear off her chest, either with love or rejection; after sitting in saddle for weeks and just worrying about the outcome, she didn’t have the energy to drag it any longer – she needed to see Gendry, now.

 

It wasn’t hard to find him – as soon as she stepped into the forge, the air hot and thick, she saw him, at the same moment as he saw her. Arya drew in a breath – he stood there, like a maiden’s dream, eyes bluer than the ocean in Bravos, strong and sure in her movements as he held a freshly forged sword with the end of it still a bit curved.

“Arya?” it was all he could manage, and suddenly every single word Arya had planned to say to him seemed to disappear from her head.

“… Hi.” Her voice was breathy, unsure. Gendry set down the sword, took a step forward – almost took another one, but he kept his distance, eyes filled with wonder, with surprise, with grief.

“You’re back.” Gendry managed, but then Arya took a step forward, closing the distance between them, almost shuddering, his eyes changing to worry – he had been hurt like this before, and it was all because of Arya. Arya opened her mouth, tried to find the words hiding in her throat, but nothing came out – nothing but simple words that weren’t quite as poetic nor ground-breaking as Arya had planned on the road.

“I’m sorry, Gendry.” Gendry stopped at that, looking at her under his brows, unsure and in a way, fragile.

“What for?” Gendry’s voice was lower now, the question hardly hearable to anyone not standing right next to him – good thing Arya was.

Arya wanted to answer; sorry for leaving. Sorry for breaking your trust. Sorry for not taking your love when you offered. Sorry I am still no lady. Sorry I took the coward’s way out.

Instead, she said none of that and lifted her hand to touch Gendry’s cheek, taking in a lungful of the smoky air of the forge.

“Can I?” Arya whispered, but didn’t get the reply as Gendry’s hands rose to her cheeks and he bent down slightly, kissing her with almost two moons of loss and sorrow, as if he could tell how much he missed Arya after she left without a word to anyone.

And Arya kissed him back – she wanted him to know how sorry she was, how much she loved him. Soon, Arya felt a smile curl Gendry’s lips, but it ended too soon as he pulled away. As Arya opened her eyes, she found his already looking at her, seemingly happy but alarmed – not that Arya could blame him, after she had rejected his proposal, disappeared into a war and then just waltzed right in and asked to kiss him.

Arya didn’t have too much time to dwell on her inner monologue though, as suddenly Gendry chuckled, trying to keep a grin from rising onto his face. It was now Arya’s turn to look confused, brows furrowed and eyes squinted.

“What is it?”

“I think I gave you a beard?” Gendry sounded like he was on the verge of bursting into laughter, which was certainly better than tears. His blue eyes moved to look at his hands, palms turned to himself. Arya could see his hands were covered in almost black mix of dirt and ash, which must have transferred to her face when he had kissed her.

“Wait, let’s get that off of you.” Gendry chuckled, and for a moment, all earlier tenseness seemed to melt off, as Gendry’s hand came to hold Arya’s wrist and he walked to a bucket of water with a rag on top of it, wetting the cloth and dabbing on Arya’s cheekbones, still an amused look in his eyes.

As Gendry was trying to get some of the dirt off, Arya stared at his eyes, fixated on her skin, and finally found her voice.

“I’m sorry for leaving like that.” Arya started. For a moment, Gendry’s movements stopped altogether, but then he hummed softly as a response, yet Arya could see his eyes hardening.

“… And I’m sorry for lying to you.”

“… About what?” his hand stopped moving, the lukewarm cloth pressed to her cheek on top a tiny cut she had gotten in the battle; Arya wondered if it was on purpose.

“About not wanting to be with you.”

Gendry sucked in air through his teeth slowly, blue irises jumping to look at her greys.

“What do you mean?” Gendry mumbles, as if he couldn’t quite follow what she was saying.

“I… Whatever happened, I knew I needed to go to King’s Landing. I couldn’t bear the thought of allowing myself to be with you, just to leave you when I’d die in the battle. I couldn’t do that to you, nor myself.” Arya’s voice was small, barely more than a whisper, but Gendry made sure he didn’t miss a word.

The silence went on and on, as Gendry stared at her, trying to make the puzzle pieces of her words and actions fit together.

“Do you mean it?” he finally asked, eyes softening the tiniest bit, as he allowed himself to hope.

“I do.” Arya’s hand rose to touch at Gendry’s hand still keeping the cloth pressed against her skin, but not to drive it away, but to touch him. “I love you.”

Gendry looked like at first, he couldn’t quite believe it, but soon his eyes widened with understanding, with happiness. Gendry let the rag drop bag to the bucket of water, but soon his hand returned, almost like he was trying to keep Arya’s head still, her eyes on him.

“You… _Love_ me?” Gendry echoed, swallowing hard, as he was trying to keep his own feelings at bay.

“More than I want to admit.” Arya answered, and now it was her turn to grab Gendry’s shoulder, using it as a bit of leverage – thank the gods Gendry wasn’t that tall anyway – to kiss him, this time her own lips tugging up to a grin, as Gendry let out a muffled, surprised noise.

Arya hardly let the kiss continue, as she pulled back just enough to murmur her words against his lips.

“If you’d still have me, marry me - please, let me be your fa---”

Gendry didn’t let her finish here words as his hands were on her hips, pulling her into embrace, kissing her with more fervour, almost as if he was scared the moment was slipping away.

“What was that?” Arya had to pull back to ask – she was scared he would reject her as she had done to him.

“Like you’d have to ask.” Gendry’s grin was now beaming from cheek to cheek, his eyes brighter than she had ever seen, even in the darkness of the forge.

“That’s not an answer.” Arya muttered, even though she couldn’t help but let a grin rise on her lips as well; though, for a good measure she did move her hand to gently punch his ribs, making him laugh softly, pulling her into a tight embrace.

“So, I guess that proves this ain’t a dream.”

Arya wondered if Gendry had dreamed of her, as he nuzzled her face against his shoulder, wrapping her arms around him tightly, holding her with all her force so he wouldn’t ever slip away – and perhaps that was what he thought, as well.

 

They stood there for a long time, in the shadows of the forge, until both jumped at the sound of someone walking in to the forge; most of the blacksmiths went south with the Dragon Queen’s army to arm the men and take care of their weapons, so Gendry had been working in relative quiet.

They finally pulled apart, Arya turning to see who was approaching, but it clearly took all of Gendry’s will to turn his eyes away from Arya, scared she’d disappear again if he looked away – yet, he had to, as one of Sansa’s guards was looking for him, probably asking for the shield Gendry had promised to repair.

“Meet me in the library later?” Arya whispered, and as soon as Gendry answered with a nod, she was gone again, taking some route out he didn’t know about – but to be fair, Arya had grown up in Winterfell, it was no surprise she had a few extra ways in and out of the castle.

 

Arya had some time to herself, as she knew Gendry wouldn’t be free until hours later; she went to her chambers and made herself a battle, washing off the dirt of two or three weeks, getting something to eat from the kitchen – then she went looking for Sansa, who had million questions, but Arya only one request.

 

Later that day, as nightfall was growing near, Arya found herself standing in front of the table, where a large map had been laid out. Her eyes were studying it, until she heard a door creak – she knew the heavy footsteps and turned around to see Gendry, whose face was it’s old, stoic and almost annoyed-looking, but his eyes betrayed the happiness boiling within.

“Sorry, it took me a while to get free. Lot of folks want their swords after losing theirs in the battle – bunch of knobheads.” Gendry explained his lateness, Arya just waving her hand around – she wasn’t here to hear Gendry apologize for doing his job.

Gendry made his way to her, coming closer and then, carefully, looking at her eyes as if asking for permission, stood close enough to let his hands rise to rest them lightly on her hips.

“… Did you mean what you said earlier? I’ve been thinking about it all day, and if you feel like you owe me something, then… Don’t. I just want to keep you in my life, wife or not.” Gendry started, his eyes careful yet hopeful, offering her a way out in case she was regretting her words; the boy was learning.

Arya let a small smile rise on her lips as she nodded.

“I did. I want to be your family – and… And you, as the Lord of Storm’s End? That’s a big thing, and I am no lady who is there just to look pretty and birth heirs to you, but I want the world to know it’s us – we survived, we are together, we are each other’s family. And – And gods, I want to marry you, I really do, if you’d have me. If you don’t want to change me to some prissy girl with ribbons in my hair and make me put Needle down.”

“I think if I’d try telling you to do any of that, I’d find Needle in my gut.” Gendry muttered, amused but his tone kept serious. He seemed to be looking for the right words, now taking her hands in his, closing his eyes for a few seconds to collect his thoughts, and then speaking. “There’s nothing I want more than to marry you – for you, Arya. I told you – you are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen, but you are so much more. And… And finally, I can do that. As a lord, though… Not exactly the most traditional kind.”

“Then we’ll be a lord and a lady of not the most traditional kind.” Arya found herself laughing, eyes twinkling with mischief – no, they certainly were not the most traditional kind.

With those words, Gendry smiled wider, dropping to one knee, her hands still in his.

“Marry me, Arya Stark. Make me the luckiest damn bastard-lord to ever live.”

Arya laughed at his words, trying to make her eyes go back to being dry.

“I will, I will, once you stop dropping to your knees.” Arya teased, making Gendry roll his eyes, as they couldn’t quite manage to keep it serious and straight-faced even as he proposed to her for the second time. Then Gendry’s hand slid downwards, smile turning into a smirk.

“I was actually planning on spending quite some time on my knees, my lady.” Gendry teased, making Arya yelp in surprise as Gendry’s hand slid under her shirt, warm fingertips against the skin on her lower back.

“You wicked, wicked man.”

 

* * *

 

Arya insisted on them acting fast – when Arya had brought it up soon after they left the library at first Gendry’s face had gone pale and he asked, clearly panicking, if he had put a baby in her belly for Arya to be in such a hurry. Arya had to explain it to him, several times, that it was because she knew changes, big changes, in Westeros were coming with the Iron Throne being destroyed and both Queens chasing the damn chair dead. Arya wanted something steady, sure in her life; that something being Gendry, her own anchor in the eye of the storm.

Thankfully, with Sansa’s help, the wedding came together rather quickly; Sansa was set to leave with here guard in three days for King’s Landing for a council meeting of all of Westero’s surviving lords and a lady, so the time for Arya and Gendry was running out.

Still they managed, like they had done before; so a day after the proposal, as the last beams of sunlight were lighting up the sky, Sansa was standing behind Arya, who was sitting on a tall stool, her sister braiding her short, dark hair.

“I can’t believe you are getting married. I thought it was only storybooks you’d find a story like that – finding some bastard on the road, falling in love and finding out he is a damn royalty – or lord.” Sansa wondered out loud to Arya, as Arya grimaced whenever Sansa pulled at her hair a bit too much.

“Maybe because I didn’t spend my childhood reading those stories I had no expectations.” Arya smiled, mostly to herself but Sansa caught it through the looking glass.

“Could be. Now, stand up.” Sansa tied the last thin leather strap to Arya’s hair to keep the braid from opening.

As there had been no time to prepare, they had to use what they had; that being one of Sansa’s old gowns, with a hem chopped to fit Arya a bit better – though now the grey and ivory winter gown was not even covering her ankles, but the rustic look made Arya feel a little bit better – she was not the one for big hemlines and cinched waists. Arya had a heavy grey cloak on her shoulders, it’s thick fur lining tickling her neck and ears.

Sansa had really worked her magic with Arya’s hair – it seemed a lot longer, with a few loose braids keeping her hair off her face, kind of resembling the way Arya normally wore her hair, but not completely. They were both happy with the end results – though Sansa was still begging every now and then that Arya and Gendry would hold a proper ceremony later, with a proper feast and everything, but understood the rush; anyway, it was not often that a westerosi marriage was because of love.

 

Arya walked down the hall of Winterfell, reaching the outside as the sky was already going dark, the stars shining above the two sisters brilliantly.

“Let’s go.” Sansa pushed Arya gently forward as her grey eyes were taking in the night sky, but then looked down to Sansa, who was leading Arya towards the Godswood.

As Arya took her first step into the Godswood, she could see the flickering of the torches. Sansa kept their arms locked, as the proud lady of Winterfell giving away her little sister to the man she loved in front of the Weirdwood that had seen many Stark weddings before.

As the woods were dark, save for the torches, Arya couldn’t see Gendry properly until she reached the last row of the remaining northerners, smiling at her, torches high.

Gendry stood there, in front of the white trunk of the Weirdwood, with black breeches and a yellow-black coat they had dug for him from somewhere. His shoulders were covered by one of Jon’s old, black cloaks, but nothing could make Arya take her eyes off of his blue eyes, as he stared at her so full of pride and love Arya wondered, what had she done to find such a person in her life.

After Sansa and Arya got close enough, Sansa stopped and looked at Arya, her thin brows rising one last time in silent question, only for Arya to nod, flashing a quick smile at her sister.

“Who comes before the gods this night?” Sam’s voice echoed through the Godswood, Sansa giving Arya one last look before answering.

“Arya Stark of Winterfell, the Slayer of Night King and Hero of Winterfell comes to ask for the blessing of the gods for their marriage. Who claims her?”

“Gendry Baratheon, the Lord of Storm’s End and the Lord Paramount of the Stormlands.” Gendry’s voice was strong and sure, his eyes kept strictly in Arya.

With that, Sansa let go of Arya’s arm and removed her cloak, as did Gendry only a few stops further, Sansa holding Arya’s cloak and one of the northern blacksmiths Gendry’s, as Davos or anyone Gendry knew wasn’t there.

Arya took a few steps forward, now standing at Gendry’s side. She felt his knuckles graze at her wrist, Arya’s eyes smiling at him as she looked at him slyly while Sam started to speak.

The whole ceremony was a mix of the Faith of the Seven and the Old Gods of the Forest; neither of them was very religious, but they felt like everyone attending maybe needed it, needed some actual glimpse of unity and true happiness in the midst of war and death.

Sam went through a few prayers, both for the Old Gods and the New, smiling at the young couple throughout the entire ceremony.

Then, it was traditionally time for the groom to cloak the bride – Gendry and Arya stood facing each other, and as Sam asked for the cloaks to be brought forwards, they were both given their own, original cloaks resting on their arms.

Arya turned her back towards Gendry, who lifted the thick, black furcloak on her shoulders, bringing her under his protection and house – as if she was the one needing protecting from other things than herself and her own impulses.

As Arya turned, here cloak on her hand, she grinned at Gendry, starry-eyes and almost giddy, though nobody but Gendry was allowed to see it. As Arya was facing Gendry again, now he turned, getting quite a few lifted brows from the Northmen. Still, Arya lifted her grey cloak on his shoulders, symbolizing her taking him under her own protection as well; they were to be equals, so not one was going to be only protecting the other, as Gendry had pointed out when they were going through the plan for the ceremony with Sam during the early morning hours.

As they were both cloaked again, wearing each other’s colours, Sam told them to kneel in front of the Weirdwood, as Arya and Gendry joined their palms, unable to stop smiling as Sam took a yellow ribbon and bound their hands together, while going through some more or less ancient text as Gendry and Arya waited for their turn to speak.

“In the sight of the Seven and the Old Gods, I hereby seal these two souls, binding them as one, for eternity.” Sam spoke, then continuing, his gaze jumping between the two. “Look upon one another and say the words.”

“Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger. I am hers and she is mine from this day until the end of my days.” Gendry’s voice overpowered Arya’s in the chilly winter night, but as they spoke in unison, it made Arya almost giggle like a little kid, Gendry’s grin only growing wider.

Gendry and Arya then turned to the Weirdwood tree and bowed their heads down in respect of the Old Gods as well, then standing up and facing each other one last time in their own little ceremony.

“With this kiss, I pledge my love.” Gendry said, now his voice faltering the smallest amount, but he proved his words with a kiss that almost knocked the air out of Arya’s lungs – she hadn’t realized she had been holding her breath until Gendry kissed her. Arya let out a amused chuckle at herself, Gendry not sure why she did so, but grinned against her lips nevertheless.

As the newlyweds turned, the northmen were applauding them with pride, as the daughter of Winterfell was married off to a man worthy of her, or at least so it seemed by the lightness of the ceremony, however weird it seemed to them.

 

Gendry and Arya were hardly able to stay respectfully long enough at their own wedding feast after the ceremony, constantly their touches lingering and secrets being whispered into each other’s ears; _you’re so beautiful, I love you, I can’t wait to get my hands on you, those breeches look awfully tight._

This, of course, was noted by their guests; it wasn’t long after the main meal as one of the bit more drunk men started demanding the bedding ceremony – “as the new couple can’t keep it in their breeches much longer” – which led to Gendry, red in his face, get dragged with the women towards Arya’s bedchambers. Arya, on the other hand, was able to keep her dignity – as the rowdy northmen and freefolk were approaching her, she promised to gut every single one of them who would try to rip off any of her clothes; still, she ended up losing a shoe and a part of the gown’s outer layer was ripped, but otherwise she was just carried to the bedchambers.

Gendry had not been quite as lucky; Arya could see pieces of his clothing on the way to the chamber, laughing loudly as she thought about the poor man with experience with only 4 girls and probably no knowledge of the bedding ceremonies, now on the mercy of women with their only goal as ripping away his clothes.

 

Arya was practically pushed inside the dimly lit chamber, Gendry turning to face her as soon as he heard the door open – he was holding a cloth, that looked like he had gotten it from Arya’s bed, in front of his privates, eyes wild.

Arya couldn’t help but laugh, pointing at him as he rolled his eyes at him, seemingly the trauma of what just happened fading away.

“You lot are fucking mad.”

“Oh, you don’t know the half of it.” Arya chuckled, walking towards her husband with a sly smirk playing on her lips. As she was about to push Gendry to her bed, Gendry spun her around, whispering things that made even Arya, who had seen and heard it all when she was in the brothel in Bravos, blush. As Gendry’s fingers started opening the buttons and ribbons of her bodice, Arya breathed slowly, kissing her way up from his neck to the corner of his mouth.

“I don’t think we are allowed to enjoy this newly married thing for long, so… Let me take my time, at least tonight.” Gendry whispered against her ear before gently laying her down on top of the furs on her bed, grinning as Arya struggled to get out of her dress.

“You are so beautiful.”

 

* * *

 

Gendry’s predictions were indeed true; the every next morning, as the couple emerged from Arya’s chambers – well, their shared chambers, from now on – Sansa already started hounding them with the preparations for them leaving to King’s Landing for the council meeting.

So not even a full day after their marriage, Gendry and Arya were already packing their belongings into leather-bags, Gendry slaving away at the forge and sharpening Needle until nightfall. Yet, they were happy – they had never been ones to stay in one place for long, as they had spent most of their times as children on the road.

 

With a small group and able to switch horses to rested ones, the journey to King’s Landing only took two weeks and three days – though Arya argued with Sansa they could have got there faster, if she hadn’t insisted on sleeping in inns and taking breaks every now and then.

The two weeks were kind to Arya and Gendry, though – they belonged on the road, hunting and training together and getting drunk in taverns before going to sleep in the same bed curling around each other almost protectively – finally the world allowed them to have each other, with no force ripping them apart (other than Sansa every morning, who wanted to continue at the crack of the dawn, while Arya and Gendry were trying to muffle out the noise of Arya’s sister by hiding under the covers and pillows. One time Sansa got the door open and said they were little brats and therefore perfect for each other. Arya chugged a pillow at her.)

 

In King’s Landing, they still had to wait for everyone to arrive; the lords were not happy to get dragged to King’s Landing after the wars had been hard on everyone already. As they waited, Arya and Gendry did what they could; Gendry went out to the streets and salvaged as much steel and materials as he could, while Arya tried to find bread and medical supplies for the surviving smallfolk. They did not want to just sit idle, as some lords did after they arrived.

 

After five more days, every lord had arrived and they were called to the council meeting to judge Tyrion Lannister and to decide who would be the new ruler of the Seven Kingdoms.

Thanks to the Stark children being in a big role in every part of the role, they were seated together – Arya, Bran and Sansa. Arya could see Gendry from the corner of his eye sitting next to Davos, new clothes of black leather making him seem older, his shoulders wider and his whole being radiating more respectable, almost cocky attitude to everything. Arya knew it was mostly for the show so he wouldn't be walked over during his first years as a lord, but yet - Arya loved it. 

Her eyes rested on the claw markings on his shoulders – a detail he had asked to add when he got the coat made. It was a little nod to her and Arya’s claim to him, as nobody but Sansa – and Bran, of course – knew about their marriage. Arya felt like she wanted to keep it that way, but a part of her wanted to shout it to the whole world - surprisingly, it was a pleasing thought, everyone knowing he was hers, he had her heart. It showed they were the few that made it in this crazy world of wars where love got you killed - like Robb. 

 

As the small council meeting started, Arya kept mostly quiet, only occasionally opening her mouth to threat someone – still her eyes were constantly on Gendry and his features, for he had never been given much of a choice – now he was in charge of all of Stormlands and the stormfolk. Arya could see he was nervous, allthough he masked it off well - he'd make a great lord. And she'd be at his side. 

Every now and then his eyes were on her, too – corner of his mouth twitching to something being said or rolling his eyes as someone was being extraordinarily stupid (as if he had anything to say about it.)

 

Then, out of nowhere the whole conversation was turned upside down, as the dwarf judged in front of them started a whole ceremony of choosing the next ruler of Storm’s End, in the end appointing the boy next to Arya – Bran. Arya did everything she could to not roll her eyes when Tyrion started going on and on how Bran had the best story of them all – and yes, Arya could agree Bran had some great stories, but still her eyes flicked to Gendry: an orphaned bastard boy, chased by Goldcloaks, sold to the Brotherhood without Banners and on to a Red Priest who just happened to know he was the last living trueborn son and heir of King Robert – and therefore the rightful successor to the Iron Throne, that apparently was now just a pile of melted steel. The man who had survived the Battle of Winterfell and married a girl from his childhood on the road – there was a great story, but it was not known by anyone but Arya – and fucking Bran, since he was so high and mighty on knowing absolutely everything.

Still, Arya had nothing against Bran being the King – so when they started voting, she knew she’d say yes.

“Lord Tarly?”

“Aye.”

“Prince Martell?”

“Aye”

It went on and on, until

“Lord Baratheon?”

“Aye” Gendry did not hesitate – Arya looked at him and nodded slightly, then turned her head to see Tyrion looking at her

“Lady Arya Stark?”

“I’d rather go by Arya _Baratheon_ , but – aye.”

There was a silence, as all of the lord’s heads snapped to Arya and then at Gendry at once – Arya saw Sansa smiling smugly, and as she looked on to Gendry – although Brienne was trying to catch her grey eyes – he saw him badly containing a proud smile, trying to not be too bothered by being stared at.

It was mostly just Arya wanting to spice up the meeting, as if it needed any – she was going to still go by Arya Stark, unless she felt like going as Baratheon for some reason – this was one of these reasons.

Still, the voting had to continue, and even if Davos was staring hard at both Arya and Gendry, seemingly wanting to jump out of his seat any second, nobody questioned anything, even if Arya could absolutely see every lord in the meeting trying to figure out what had happened to make the temperamental daughter of Winterfell who had promised to slid the Ironborn daughter’s throat not long ago marry the newly legitimized lord of Storm’s End.

“… Lady Sansa Stark?”

It was time for Arya to be surprised before pride took over as Sansa demanded North’s independence, which Bran granted them. Part of Arya wanted to jump up and hug Sansa, congratulate her, but part of her wanted to show the northern spirit – calm, collected, proud of her heritage.

 

Finally, the meting came to a close. As Arya stood up from her seat, stretching her arms and legs, she saw her uncle, Edmure Tully, approach her.

“I’ve heard of no wedding.”

Arya glanced at her sister, who was absolutely staring down their uncle even sitting down in her seat.

“It only happened some weeks ago, we had no time for a big ceremony or inviting anyone who wasn’t in Winterfell at the time.” Sansa explained to Edmure, who seemed annoyed – and that was an understatement, but he didn’t dare to argue with Sansa, who carried his sister’s pride and who had just made North independent after generations of the northern kingdom being under the Iron Throne’s ruler.

 

Arya slid away from the conversation of the two, sneaking towards Gendry, whose back was turned to Arya, as Davos was speaking to him, smiling warily.

“The biggest change is that now I can call her lady and she can’t say I’m wrong.”

Alright, so maybe Gendry had noticed her even if she was approaching him from behind.

“That better be a joke, this is what you tell everyone?” Arya chuckled from behind Gendry, as the man grinned and moved his hand to tug Arya closer by the hip, though kept their distance respectful while Davos stood there.

“Ah, Lady Arya, you took us all by bit of a surprise. So this is why you rode back to Winterfell so soon?” Davos asked, his demeanour warm and in a way, fatherly. It made Arya smile at the older man and nod, her hand grazing at Gendry’s arm.

“Yes. We wanted you to be here, but wanted to get it over with so it’d be official.” Arya explained, then looking up at Gendry, then back to Davos and coughing quietly against her wrist. “We need some matters to discuss with you later – but I, at least, want to go see Jon now. Do you know where they keep him?”

 

* * *

 

Four whole moons later, as Bran was crowned the King of Six Kingdoms, Arya stood at the dock of Lannisport, overseeing supplies being carried to the ship.

After everything had settled a little it, Arya and Gendry had been talking; they were still young, and shared the same thought: they belonged on the road. They still wanted to wander around and see the world. So after some serious father-son-talks and Arya trying to pry any information out of Bran, Gendry and Arya had found a way to settle things; Gendry gave the ruling of Storm’s End to Davos, but would choose someone who had been serving as Storm’s End’s lord’s advisor before to manage things while Arya went to Lannisport with both Stark and Baratheon money and soon a large ship for long voyages was started in the dock.

For few moons things were still hard; Arya rode back and forth in Lannisport and Storm’s End and Winterfell, said goodbyes and tried to make her departure easier to everyone. Nobody had ever sailed back from the West, and even if Arya planned to be the first one with Gendry, there was no knowing that.

Yet, as Arya was standing beside Gendry, she felt ready to leave; they had years to go on adventures before choosing where they wanted to settle down, if they ever would.

When Arya turned on the deck of the ship decorated with direwolves and antlers of stags and bulls, looking at the Westeros’ coast that was further and further away by the minute, and felt Gendry’s hand come rest on the small of her back, she had never felt more like herself.

She was ready face any fear thrown at her, ready to let herself love and be loved, whatever would wait for them at the edge of the world.

 

**Author's Note:**

> [the ending might be edited during the next 3 days]


End file.
